


Moral Ambiguity

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Discussion Of Murder, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Psychologist!Oikawa, Serial Killer!Iwaizumi, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Oikawa Tooru, a decorated forensic psychologist, has never met a criminal he couldn’t break. He knows how they think and he’s an expert of persuasion.Japan’s most famous serial killer, Iwaizumi Hajime, may be the exception.Iwaizumi isn’t quite like the criminals Oikawa has worked with in the past. He isn’t bloodthirsty or psychotic, and he shows no propensity toward violence or aggression. Once he gets past his bad attitude, he's actually quite pleasant, and Oikawa doesn’t mind the hours he spends in Iwaizumi’s underground cell.In fact, the more Oikawa learns about him, the more he begins to believe Iwaizumi doesn’t deserve to spend a lifetime in prison.





	Moral Ambiguity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoyalCanary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalCanary/gifts).



> Thank you so much, Annie! <3

It had been nearly two years since Oikawa had set foot in Tokyo; or any part of Japan, for that matter. The avoidance hadn’t been intentional. Japan would always be his home and his heritage, and it was a relief to be back. Still, he wouldn’t have returned at all, if he hadn’t been given a good reason.

But he had been given a _very_ good reason.

The headquarters of the National Police Agency of Japan was an imposing building of high white walls and gleaming windows. Oikawa had been there on more occasions than he could recall; infrequently when he’d first gotten into the business, more recurrently when he’d begun the ascent to the top of his field. Even with his recent absence from the country, the steep stairs and the pristine lobby were familiar. Oikawa had an impeccable memory for many things, not just those related to his job.

A woman was seated behind a desk, dressed in professional attire, her hair pulled back neatly. She looked up with a smile as Oikawa approached, likely prepared to regurgitate whatever generic greeting she gave to visitors.

Oikawa smiled back, and the woman’s polite interest was replaced with awed surprise.

“Oikawa-san,” she said, quickly standing. “Welcome. The Chief wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“I’m an early riser,” said Oikawa lightly. He gestured for her to sit, and she obediently did so. “Can I find Chief Irihata in his office?”

“He’s downstairs, in holding,” said the woman. “He’s preparing for your arrival.”

That was comforting. Maybe Irihata would follow Oikawa’s instructions instead of balking at them, as some persons of authority had done. “Fantastic. Thank you, miss. I’ll see you on my way out, yes?”

“Oh! Yes, I, umm… I’ll be here.”

Oikawa offered his most charming smile before sweeping past, toward the elevator. It fell off of his face as soon as his back was turned.

He’d learned over the years that his life was much easier if he was likeable. People became more cooperative, went out of their way to accommodate him and make sure he was happy. He didn’t have many enemies, even among his clientele, and he took pride in that. He thought it was part of the reason he’d achieved such success, but only part of it. Most of his accomplishments had been gained by hard work alone. It had taken years of painstaking struggle to get himself to this point. He’d poured everything he had, everything he was, into his career.

It hadn’t been an easy climb, but Oikawa felt that nothing worth doing should be easy. He’d been taught that from a young age.

Oikawa descended to the basement level of the Agency, distant memory guiding him through the cool hallways. The ordinary holding cells were off to the left, but that wasn’t Oikawa’s destination. He had a feeling his new project would have merited more special arrangements.

During his last visit two years ago, the Agency had suffered a breach in security when an inmate had escaped from holding. In response, they had reworked their budget to finance the construction of a sturdier holding cell, one that would be used for the most high-risk criminals.

Oikawa thought no one in the country could be considered as high-risk as Iwaizumi Hajime.

Oikawa had read about him, even before the police had attached his name to the murders. They’d called him the Phantom Killer at first, when they’d still been searching for his identity, because he’d never left a sliver of evidence behind. It was the most interesting serial killer case that Japan had seen in over a decade, and Oikawa had followed it every step of the way, even from overseas. When he’d gotten the call from Chief Irihata requesting his assistance, he’d been elated. Oikawa was the best at working with the worst sorts of people, and Iwaizumi Hajime was certainly one of the worst.

The door that led to the special cell was solid steel. There was no handle; only a glowing keypad that would have been chest-height on most men, but was lower on Oikawa.

He frowned at it. He hadn’t been given any special clearances, but that may have been because he’d barged downstairs without waiting to speak to the Chief. He’d assumed he would meet someone on his way, but he’d seen no one. If he circled back around to the ordinary cells, he would find an officer there. It was mandatory for someone to watch the cells at all times. Maybe they could give him access.

Before he’d made it a dozen steps down the hallway, the steel door slid open with a metallic crunch. Oikawa turned back to find a familiar face, with a few more wrinkles than he recalled. “Ah, Chief Irihata! I was just looking for you.”

“Oikawa-san, good to see you again. Please, come inside.”

Oikawa stepped through the metal door. It closed behind them with a heavy thud. The hallway beyond was made of gray stone; walls, floor, and ceiling. It gave the impression of an underground tunnel, and Oikawa realized that technically, it was.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” said Irihata. “We’ve had men from all over the country in here, trying to dig information out of him, but he won’t budge. He’ll hardly even talk to them. We’ve had him for three months and we’ve got nothing.”

“Have you found any of the victims?” Oikawa already knew the answer, but he felt it was polite to ask. Irihata didn’t know that Oikawa had access to Japan’s police database. No one knew, because technically Oikawa didn’t have the clearance for it.

“Not a single damn one.” Irihata glanced down the hallway with a sigh. “We could still get him for the murders. We picked up enough evidence when we finally tracked him down, but… it won’t hold the same weight. The bastard won’t get the sentence he deserves.”

Irihata didn’t have to elaborate. Oikawa knew what he was thinking. The Chief would seek Capital Punishment for Iwaizumi’s crimes, and he needed all the incriminating evidence he could get.

“The families deserve closure, too,” added Irihata as an afterthought. “These people he slaughtered should get a proper burial, instead of… _whatever_ the sick bastard did to them.”

“I understand,” said Oikawa. The Chief’s reasoning was solid. Oikawa intended to get the necessary information, although his own motives were a bit more self-serving. “It may take some time, but it will be done. I’ve never failed a case.”

That was why Oikawa would succeed with this one, too. He didn’t show up to a job only to walk away a failure. He’d always accomplished his objectives, in one way or another. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“I trust you,” said Irihata. “You’re a good man and a good interrogator.”

Oikawa wasn’t an interrogator. His training was in forensic psychology, but he didn’t correct Irihata’s mistake. Oikawa didn’t employ interrogation methods, but he supposed the end result would be the same. He would still collect the necessary information. “Thank you, Chief.”

“I did as you said,” the Chief explained. “We killed all the visual and audio feeds to his cell. There’s an officer standing guard, but when you’re ready, he’ll step outside and wait for you to finish. Just knock on this door when you want out.” Irihata banged his fist against the metal once, to illustrate. The lines of his face deepened and he added, “Iwaizumi is a dangerous man. If you give him an opening, he’ll take it. He fought like hell when we caught up to him. He took down three officers after he’d been tazed.” Irihata folded his arms with a frown. “Just be careful in there, alright? I know this is your method, but you’ve blinded us. If something happens, we won’t know. If you scream loud enough, someone might hear, but they might not. This door’s pretty thick.”

Oikawa considered that. “He’s in a cell, isn’t he?”

“The most impenetrable cell in Japan,” said Irihata, with a trace of pride. “He’s not getting out, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get you, if you get too close. Keep your distance.”

“Don’t worry about that, Chief,” said Oikawa. “I won’t have to get close to get what I need.”

“Good.” Irihata slapped a card against the keypad on the wall and the door grinded open again. He raised his voice and called, “Mizoguchi! Let’s go!”

Another officer appeared at the far end of the stone hallway. He looked over his shoulder, then paced close, eyeing Oikawa as he passed by.

“Watch yourself in there,” said Officer Mizoguchi, reflecting the Chief’s advice. “I’ve seen a lot of criminals in my day, but he’s the worst one.”

Something rippled down Oikawa’s spine. It should have been uncertainty, or alarm.

Instead it was anticipation. Oikawa had always loved a challenge.

Oikawa thanked them for their help and waited until the door crunched shut between them. He took a breath of cool air and started forward, his shoes quiet against the stone floor. At the end of the hallway he paused, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder, grip tightening around the strap. His laptop was inside, in case he needed to check any facts of Iwaizumi Hajime’s case, but he didn’t think he would need it. He’d memorized all of the important details on the plane to Tokyo. He’d expected to have the bag searched, or possibly confiscated before he’d been allowed to enter the holding area, but it seemed his reputation had preceded him. Oikawa had been an asset to a countless number of police agencies around the world. He’d earned a universal trust, especially from the officers of his home country, where he’d gotten his start.

There was a low cough from around the corner. Oikawa couldn’t see anything beyond, but he knew who the sound had come from.

Oikawa closed his eyes for a few fleeting seconds, mentally preparing himself, before stepping around the corner with a smile on his face.

His first thought was that Irihata hadn’t exaggerated about the quality of the holding cell. It was four walls of solid plexiglass, five yards of distance separating it from the stone walls of the basement. The plexiglass looked to be a solid six inches thick, and the only entrance was a narrow door paired with a glowing keypad. Other than the exterior, the cell was typical. There was a cot in one corner, a toilet topped with a sink in another, and a single fold-out chair. The parade of fluorescent lights overhead threw the contents into acute visibility, along with the man who sat on the edge of the cot, whose sharp eyes locked onto Oikawa the instant he appeared.

Oikawa’s second thought was that the mugshots he’d seen of Iwaizumi Hajime weren’t an accurate representation of the man himself.

In the photographs, the criminal’s face had been bruised and bloody. Oikawa had read the police reports, so he knew that had been a result of his struggle during the arrest. Months had passed since then, and there was no longer any evidence of the skirmish. His skin was smooth, bronze despite his stretch of captivity. He had a strong jaw and a stronger scowl, dark brows dipping together as Oikawa moved closer.

“Good afternoon!” said Oikawa brightly. There was a chair against the wall and he dragged it closer to the cell, adjusting it to face Iwaizumi. He placed his bag in the floor as he sat, legs crossed, as casual as if he’d been in a café rather than a jail cell. “You must be Iwaizumi Hajime. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Iwaizumi didn’t react. He stayed where he was, watching Oikawa through the thick plexiglass. There were circular holes cut here and there, about the size of Oikawa’s spread hand. He assumed they were there to allow fresh air into the cell. He also assumed that was why he’d been told to keep his distance. If he was grabbed through one of those cutouts, he wouldn’t have a chance.

“Chief Irihata called me in,” said Oikawa, keeping his voice pleasant. “He thought you and I would get along.”

One of Iwaizumi’s eyebrows twitched. Oikawa interpreted that as skepticism.

“I’m very easy to get along with,” said Oikawa. “Everyone thinks so. You will too, when we get to know each other.”

Iwaizumi was unmoved.

“The Chief wants me to talk to you about the case,” said Oikawa, “but you’ve probably heard enough about that to last a lifetime. We can talk about something else, if you’d like. You’ve been down here for a while. Is there anything you’d like to know about the outside world? Weather, politics, current events…?”

There was no response, and Oikawa wasn’t surprised. Iwaizumi had a face carved of granite, and his eyes were just as hard. He wouldn’t be an easy man to break.

Oikawa’s smile pulled wider.

“It’s a nice day, today,” said Oikawa conversationally. He looked up at the ceiling, as if seeking the sunlight from the underground room. “It’s around 20 degrees. A few clouds, not many. It’s supposed to be like this all week, except Thursday. The forecast says it should rain on Thursday.”

“I’m not stupid.” Iwaizumi’s voice was low and rough, gritty from disuse. He didn’t speak loudly, but he didn’t need to. The words carried easily.

“Who said you were?” asked Oikawa. He was pleased; any sort of interaction was good, at this stage.

“You.”

“You’re mistaken,” said Oikawa. “I didn’t-”

“You’re trying to make nice with me,” rumbled Iwaizumi, “so I’ll let my guard down. Don’t you think the other assholes tried that, too?”

Oikawa smiled. This was going to be fun.

“I’m sure they did,” said Oikawa. “It’s basic psychology. If they hadn’t tried, then they’d be the ones who are stupid.”

Iwaizumi said nothing.

“But since you already know that,” continued Oikawa, “and you’re too smart to fall for it, what do you have to lose by playing along? I’m sure there are things you’d like to know. I’m offering to tell you, and for now, I’m not asking anything in return. There’s no downside for you.”

“Having to look at you is the downside.”

Oikawa laughed. “Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to look at me either way. I can’t give up that easily. Besides, I know I’m not terrible to look at. Not like the old men Irihata called in first, who already have one foot in the grave.”

Iwaizumi considered him, his scowl unwavering.

Oikawa gave him time to think it over. He studied the room, pinpointing the cameras mounted to the ceiling. He’d seen the same ones before, in a dozen different agencies. When they were active, a red light flashed near the base.

These didn’t have lights. They’d been disconnected, at Oikawa’s request. He didn’t like having his sessions recorded. It made everything too stiff, and he was less likely to get the information he needed. His criminal clientele talked more freely if they knew they were truly alone.

“Who won the championship?”

Oikawa glanced back at Iwaizumi, whose face hadn’t changed. “What championship?”

“Volleyball,” said Iwaizumi. “The national championship was two weeks ago.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I’ll check.” Oikawa patted at his pocket and pulled out his phone. The browser refused to load, and he realized he was too far underground to get a signal. “I don’t get service down here. I’ll find out and tell you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” repeated Iwaizumi.

“Yes. I’ll be back tomorrow. The day after too, and the one after that. The next one too, even though it’s Saturday. You don’t get weekends off, so I won’t, either.”

Iwaizumi leaned his head back against the plexiglass. “Why can’t they just let me waste away in peace?”

“Because you won’t tell anyone what you did with the bodies,” said Oikawa, matter-of-fact. “The Chief wants to know.”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps were thick, straining the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt. The agency hadn’t outfitted him in a typical prison uniform, because he wasn’t technically in prison. They’d given him that t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, with white tube socks. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and Oikawa wondered if he hadn’t been given any or if he had chosen not to wear them.

“I’m not talking,” said Iwaizumi. “To you, or anyone else.”

“That’s your decision,” said Oikawa. “I can’t force you to tell me.”

“Then leave.”

“I can’t force you,” repeated Oikawa, “but I have to try. It’s my job. You understand, right?”

Iwaizumi sighed, but said nothing.

“But I guess I can go for today,” said Oikawa, “if you don’t have anything else to say.”

Iwaizumi sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.

Oikawa shrugged. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Not that I got much of a welcome to begin with.” He stood and dragged the chair back to its place against the wall, then turned to face the plexiglass. “I’ll find out about that championship match. Tomorrow I’ll be here around noon, I think. Would you like me to bring you lunch?”

Iwaizumi went defensive. Oikawa saw it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

“You can’t win me over with food,” spat Iwaizumi. “I told you I’m not stupid.”

“And I told you I have to try anyway,” said Oikawa, cheerful. “I’m offering to bring you something that isn’t jail food. I’ve never eaten jail food, but I’ve heard it isn’t the best. What do you have to lose?”

Iwaizumi didn’t trust anything he said. That was obvious. But Oikawa knew he would accept the offer. Denying it would have been stupid, and as Iwaizumi had insisted, he was not stupid.

“Fine,” said Iwaizumi. “I’ll take food, but I’m not talking.”

“Again, that’s your decision,” said Oikawa. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Iwaizumi-san.” He offered a wave before slipping back around the corner and heading down the long hallway toward the steel door. He hadn’t accomplished anything of merit, but he hadn’t expected to. Not so soon, anyway. It would take a while. Weeks, probably; Iwaizumi didn’t seem like he’d be as easy to break as some of the men Oikawa had dealt with.

But he would break, after some time with Oikawa.

Everyone did.

  
  
  
  
  
“Poland.”

It was the first thing Oikawa said when he stepped into the underground cell the following day with his bag on his shoulder and a styrofoam takeout box in his hands.

Iwaizumi was lounging back on his cot. He rolled his head to the side, to take in Oikawa, but didn’t otherwise move. “What?”

“Poland,” repeated Oikawa. He balanced the box in one palm and grabbed the chair against the wall, dragging it around as he’d done the day before. “They won the championship. It was a clean sweep against Brazil.”

“Where’d Japan place?”

“So low it isn’t worth mentioning.”

Iwaizumi tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“I brought food,” said Oikawa, indicating the box. “If you’re hungry. I didn’t know what you liked so I picked up oyakodon. Everyone likes oyakodon.”

“If I don’t,” said Iwaizumi, “are you going to run back out and bring something else?”

“Nope,” said Oikawa brightly. “If you don’t, you’re out of luck. Do you want it or not?”

A minute passed before Iwaizumi moved. When he did it was with a huff, the cot creaking beneath his weight as he rolled upright. He wasn’t as tall as Oikawa, not quite. What he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. He was sturdy, with broad shoulders and strong arms. Oikawa wasn’t frail, had never been, but he knew from a glance that he wouldn’t stand a chance if he was locked in a room with Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi stepped up beside the door of the cell and tapped the wall, where a flat slot around 15 centimeters tall was cut into the plexiglass. It was about the size and shape of a lunch tray, and Oikawa assumed that was its purpose.

“Slide it through,” said Iwaizumi.

Oikawa remembered what Irihata had told him the day before, about getting too close.

“Much like yourself,” said Oikawa, “I’m not stupid. Reach out and I’ll hand it to you.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth curled up at one side. It was almost a smirk. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Oikawa, “because I personally think I look quite intelligent.”

Iwaizumi pushed his hands through the slot, palms-up. The takeout box was too tall to fit, so Oikawa popped the lid open and carefully placed it in Iwaizumi’s waiting hands. He was tense as he did it; he expected Iwaizumi to slam against the wall and lunge for him, or fling the food into his face. It wouldn’t have been the first time either of those things had happened.

The men who had done them hadn’t been in their right mind, though. They were raving lunatics, with little concept of what was happening or what consequences they would face for their actions.

Iwaizumi wasn’t like them. There was cold intelligence in his eyes, even as he withdrew and squeezed the box through the slot.

“The Chief said I can’t give you chopsticks, because you could use them as a weapon,” said Oikawa mildly. He reached into his pocket. “He did say you could have this plastic spork, as long as you give it back when you’re finished.”

“Fine.”

Iwaizumi slipped a hand through the slot again, fingers reaching. Oikawa took a half-step closer, to press the spork into his palm.

Iwaizumi turned his head quickly, looking at something across the room. Oikawa did the same, following his stare, and realized a second too late that he’d made a mistake.

Iwaizumi seized Oikawa’s wrist. The spork clattered to the floor as Oikawa yanked against him, but it was useless. Iwaizumi’s grip was iron, unbreakable.

Panic swelled in Oikawa’s chest, clawing at his throat. He thought of screaming, wondered if the guard posted outside would hear him.

“Maybe you’re not as smart as you think, Oikawa Tooru.” Iwaizumi pressed his face against one of the circles cut into the plexiglass. “I could break your wrist from here. Hell, I could drag you close and snap your neck, if I wanted. You think you could stop me?”

Oikawa swallowed. He tried to keep the panic off of his face and out of his voice. “No. I don’t think I could.”

Iwaizumi studied him. His eyes weren’t as dark as Oikawa had thought. Up close they were almost hazel, but still so sharp that they sliced into Oikawa like a blade.

The next fifteen seconds were the longest of Oikawa’s life. He held his breath and waited, hyperaware of the hot grip crushing his wrist.

Iwaizumi blinked, and without comment or warning, released him. He retracted his arm into the cell and inspected the food Oikawa had given him.

Oikawa’s hand flopped to his side, but he didn’t back away. He just stared, baffled, as Iwaizumi ate a piece of chicken.

Oikawa could have died. That truth was evident in the rush of adrenaline in his blood, burning low like a flashing warning sign. Iwaizumi could have killed him.

He could have, but he hadn’t.

Oikawa knelt to retrieve the spork from the floor. His fingers were shaking and he expelled a breath, trying to steady himself. “Do you still want this?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Are you stupid enough to get close to me again?”

“Yeah,” said Oikawa, “I guess I am. If you wanted to hurt me, you would have.”

Iwaizumi frowned at him through the plexiglass. He didn’t move, so Oikawa approached instead. He poked the spork through the slot, a silent offering.

Oikawa knew it was stupid. His heart was still racing from the scare, and it was in his best interest to keep as far away from that cell as possible.

But it was Oikawa’s job to coax information out of Iwaizumi, and he couldn’t do that without earning his trust first.

Iwaizumi reached out, and Oikawa gritted his teeth to keep himself from pulling away. Iwaizumi took the spork, fingers barely brushing against Oikawa’s. Oikawa withdrew his hand without incident. Oikawa returned to his chair, pulse pounding, and watched Iwaizumi rinse the spork off in the small sink before sitting cross-legged on his cot to eat. When he’d eaten his way through half of the meal, Oikawa said, “I got the agency’s Wi-fi password. So if you ask something I don’t know, I can find out.”

“Google why Japan’s team can’t win a fucking game,” said Iwaizumi through a mouthful.

He wasn’t serious. Oikawa knew he wasn’t. Still, he whipped out his phone and started typing.

  
  
  
  
  
Oikawa’s visits over the next week followed a similar pattern. He didn’t always bring lunch, because he didn’t always arrive at noon. One day he came early, and brought a small serving of breakfast from a café near his hotel. One day he came late, after most of the Agency personnel had already left. On that occasion he brought milk bread, for both Iwaizumi and himself. It was different every day, but he always brought something, and he always kept to innocuous topics such as the weather and the new construction site down the street. He didn’t discover any quantitative information during that time, but that didn’t mean he’d made no progress toward the case. Quite the opposite, in fact.

When Oikawa stepped into the room for his seventh visit, Iwaizumi wasn’t lounging in his cot or sitting against the wall. When the guard had left, he’d known Oikawa was on his way. He was standing at the plexiglass, arms hanging half-out of the cell, draped casually through a pair of the cutout circles.

“Good evening, Iwaizumi-san,” said Oikawa. He’d brought a small tray of sushi this time. He didn’t hesitate as he passed it over, and didn’t flinch when Iwaizumi’s hand brushed against his as he took it.

Iwaizumi plopped down on his cot with the food, popping the lid off and tossing it aside. Oikawa hadn’t given him utensils, but he didn’t care. He plucked a piece out of the tray with his fingers and popped it into his mouth, watching Oikawa as he chewed. Oikawa dragged his chair over, a little closer to the plexiglass than usual.

Maybe from an outsider’s perspective, Oikawa had accomplished nothing during his week with Iwaizumi. He hadn’t gotten any information from him. He hadn’t even tried, not really. But the difference in the way Iwaizumi responded to him now, compared to the first day, was evidence enough of Oikawa’s success.

“How’s your day going so far?” asked Oikawa.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Same as usual.”

“That guard that was in here,” said Oikawa, gesturing toward the hallway. “Is that the annoying one you were talking about?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Yes. I don’t know if his sinuses are messed up or if he has fucking tuberculosis, but he coughs every thirty seconds. It drives me fucking insane.”

“Maybe he should see a doctor.”

“Or maybe he should find a new job,” said Iwaizumi, shoving another piece of sushi into his mouth. “Before I lose my shit.”

Oikawa hummed. “I could ask Chief Irihata about having that guard transferred to a different post. I’m sure he has other men who could replace him.”

Iwaizumi went still, eyes fixed on Oikawa. “Would he do it?”

“Maybe.” Oikawa shrugged. “I won’t know until I ask. Would you like me to?”

Iwaizumi swallowed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sure.”

“Okay,” said Oikawa. He leaned forward slightly, eyeing Iwaizumi through the clear sheet of plexiglass. “I’ll do what I can, but you have to do something for me, first.”

Iwaizumi blinked, absorbing that statement. Oikawa knew when it sank in. He saw it on Iwaizumi’s face, the way it went from neutral to hostile in five seconds flat.

“Fuck you,” spat Iwaizumi. He hadn’t finished the sushi, but he tossed it aside. “I already told you I’m not talking.”

“Think carefully about your position, Iwaizumi-san,” said Oikawa. “You’re looking at me as an enemy, but am I? What have I done to make your life more difficult?”

“I’m not saying shit.”

Oikawa ignored him. “From what the police have determined, you’re responsible for at least eighteen deaths, maybe more. That gives you eighteen bargaining chips. It’s up to you to decide how to use them.”

Iwaizumi’s glare didn’t fade.

“The Chief wants to know where the bodies are,” said Oikawa, “but you don’t have to tell me that. Not yet. We’ll do this on your time, Iwaizumi-san. You have plenty of it, and so do I. We’ll start small, and we’ll start at the beginning. Tell me who the first victim was, and how and where you killed them, and I’ll make sure Irihata switches that guard for a new one.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Oikawa sighed as he stood. “If you start thinking of me as your ally, this would go much more smoothly for you. I don’t mean my visits, either. I mean your life in general. You’ll be in the system until you die, no matter what happens now. If you let me help you, your life won’t be quite as miserable.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“That’s your decision.” Oikawa straightened his coat and turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Don’t bother.”

Oikawa waved over his shoulder. He paced down the stone hallway and knocked on the steel door. The guard opened it a second later, and Oikawa patted him on the shoulder as he stepped through. “Keep it up,” mumbled Oikawa. “It’s getting to him.”

The guard nodded and cleared his throat as he stepped into the hallway. The steel door closed between them, and Oikawa heard a distant, muffled cough.

He smiled to himself as he left the Agency.

  
  
  
  
  
The following day, Oikawa arrived at the Agency just after breakfast. He’d picked up a stack of incredibly fluffy pancakes for Iwaizumi, and he carried them into the cell with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. “Good morning, Iwaizumi-san!” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

Iwaizumi sat on his cot with his back pressed against the wall, legs hanging over the edge and dark circles beneath his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but his scowl was answer enough.

“Here’s your breakfast,” said Oikawa. He strolled up to the slot in the wall as if nothing was wrong and nudged the corner of the box through.

Iwaizumi didn’t rush. He peeled himself out of bed slowly and shuffled across the cell with heavy steps. He yanked the box out of Oikawa’s hand, peeked inside, and collapsed right back onto his cot with a huff.

“Is something wrong, Iwaizumi-san?” said Oikawa. “You seem to be in a bad mood.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright then.” Oikawa dragged over his chair and sat quietly, waiting.

Five minutes slipped by, then ten, before Iwaizumi raised his head. “The night guard called in,” he said. “The one from yesterday worked an extra shift. He coughed all night. Every time I was almost asleep he fucking coughed and I woke right back up.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Oikawa. “If only there was something I could do.”

Iwaizumi glared at him, then dropped his face back into his cot. Oikawa sat back and continued waiting.

It took fifteen minutes, this time. Iwaizumi hadn’t moved, but still Oikawa felt his uncertainty from across the room. When Iwaizumi sat up, he eyed Oikawa warily, eyes sharp despite the lack of sleep.

“I want him gone,” said Iwaizumi. “Permanently. And I want some books. I’m losing my mind in here.”

“That should be easy enough.”

“I want you to swear to me you’ll do it.”

Oikawa met his stare through the glass, unflinching. “Of course I will. I’m a man of my word.”

Iwaizumi heaved himself off the cot and stuck his arm through one of the circles. “Shake on it.”

Oikawa didn’t move. “Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson about that, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Shake on it or there’s no deal.”

Oikawa considered him, and slowly stood. He shouldn’t do it. He knew he shouldn’t, especially since he’d made Iwaizumi angry the day before. Iwaizumi was irritated, he hadn’t slept, and his nerves were rubbed raw. If he was going to lash out at someone, it would be at Oikawa, and it would be right now.

Still, Oikawa reached out, cautiously, and curled his hand against Iwaizumi’s. The grip was firm, but not crushing. Iwaizumi shook his hand, then let go and pulled his arm back into his cell.

Oikawa breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Fine.” Iwaizumi rested his forehead against the plexiglass. He raised an arm and braced it against the wall too, hand curled into a fist. “The first one was a man from Miyagi. I never learned his name. I did it in the alley between Blocks 168 and 169, next to the primary school playground. I pushed him up against the wall by a dumpster and choked him until he was dead.”

Oikawa’s heartbeat was sluggish. Time seemed too have slowed. A minute dripped by thickly as he considered Iwaizumi through the plexiglass. “Why?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I’m not asking because of the deal,” said Oikawa. He stepped closer to the wall, watching Iwaizumi. “I really just want to know why.”

Iwaizumi didn’t appear offended by the question. He scowled, but it seemed to be from thought rather than from anger. His gaze was steady, voice solid, when he said, “Because he deserved it.”

He said it with such conviction that, for a moment, Oikawa believed him. He believed that the murder had been justified, that whatever anonymous stranger Iwaizumi spoke of had truly deserved to die.

Oikawa took a step back, mentally reeling. That was ridiculous. Of course he hadn’t deserved it. No one deserved to be murdered.

“Okay,” said Oikawa. “I’ll talk to Chief Irihata. You’ll have a new guard within the hour.”

“Books.”

“I’ll bring them with me tomorrow,” said Oikawa. “I’ll buy a good selection.”

Iwaizumi nodded, and retreated back to his cot. “Good.”

Oikawa left the cell in a mild daze. This was his first success with Iwaizumi. Even if the information didn’t get them anywhere, it was the first time Iwaizumi had voluntarily told him anything about the murders. It was a step in the right direction, and more steps would follow. He should have been ecstatic.

Instead he felt a little odd. There was no need for it. The conversation had gone exactly as he’d planned. It had all fallen into place.

Except that last question, the one that Oikawa shouldn’t have asked, and Iwaizumi shouldn’t have answered.

_Because he deserved it._

Iwaizumi had meant it. There was no question about that. He hadn’t killed the man out of some twisted fetish, or because he derived pleasure from it. He’d done it because he’d thought it needed to be done, because the man had done something to earn it.

Many killers felt that way. It wasn’t anything new.

Still, it felt different. Even after Oikawa met with the Chief and got the guards switched, even as he stopped by the bookstore on his way back to the hotel, even as he showered and curled up in bed that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He needed to know more about the murders.

He needed to know more about Iwaizumi.

  
  
  
  
  
When Oikawa arrived at the Agency the following day, just before five o’clock, Iwaizumi was in a noticeably better mood.

Oikawa hadn’t known what to expect. He’d thought Iwaizumi might be more aggressive, because he’d been backed into a corner and had made a deal out of desperation. It was reasonable for him to blame Oikawa for that, and if he had, they would’ve had to start all over again.

But if Iwaizumi was angry with Oikawa, he did an impressive job of hiding it.

Oikawa fed the books through the slot, one at a time. The Chief had advised him to purchase paperbacks only, but he’d gotten the thickest ones he could find to allay Iwaizumi’s boredom for as long as possible.

Iwaizumi gathered the books in his arms – carefully, because Oikawa had brought a dozen – and dumped them onto his cot. His back was toward Oikawa as he sorted through them, but still Oikawa heard the low mumble.

“Thanks.”

Iwaizumi had never thanked him for anything before, no matter how many meals Oikawa delivered.

Oikawa took his seat. He realized a minute later he was smiling, and quickly wiped it off of his face.

“You look well-rested,” said Oikawa. “Did you sleep better last night?”

“I’m pretty sure the new guard didn’t even breathe,” said Iwaizumi. He sat on the edge of the cot and chose a book from the stack, flipping through the pages. “I didn’t hear a sound from him. I slept like a fucking stone.”

“Good to hear,” said Oikawa. Maybe he should have left it at that, but he couldn’t help adding, “So you’re satisfied with our deal, then?”

Iwaizumi looked up at him, thumb still tucked between the pages of the book. “Yeah,” he said, glancing down. “I guess so.”

Oikawa reclined back in his chair, studying Iwaizumi through the glass. He was in the same clothes Oikawa had first seen him in, or at least an identical set. He must have been allowed out of the cell to shower, because he’d never looked dirty. His hair stuck up in all directions, but Oikawa suspected that was just how it grew. It wasn’t due to a lack of care.

If Oikawa had seen Iwaizumi on the street, the label of serial killer wouldn’t have crossed his mind. He didn’t look like the type. People said that about killers quite often, that they didn’t look as if they were capable of killing. Oikawa wasn’t one of those people. In his experience, there was something about killers that gave them away. It was how they presented themselves, their mannerisms, or even just a gleam in their eyes that suggested they were a little unhinged.

Iwaizumi didn’t have any of those tells. If Oikawa hadn’t already known what the man had done, what he was capable of, he would have never guessed it.

“Can I ask you about something?” said Oikawa. “Just between you and me.”

“You can ask,” said Iwaizumi. He flipped to the first page of the book and started reading. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“The first man you killed.” Oikawa tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “You said he deserved it. Why?”

“Why does it matter?” asked Iwaizumi, still staring at the printed pages. “I killed him. No one cares why.”

“I care.”

Iwaizumi peeled his eyes up and fixed them on Oikawa. A second passed between them, then two, before he said, “Why?”

“I just do.”

Iwaizumi’s suspicion crept in. “What are you trying to get out of this?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t called here to figure out your motives. Like you said, no one cares why you did it. The Chief thinks it’s irrelevant.” Oikawa paused, lacing his fingers together. “I’d just like you to tell me, for personal knowledge. Please.”

Iwaizumi flipped the book shut and put it aside. He stood, cot squeaking, and paced across the small cell to stand in front of Oikawa. He considered him, and Oikawa could see the thoughts and suspicions flashing behind his eyes.

Finally, Iwaizumi grabbed the chair from the corner of his cell and pushed it close to the wall. He dropped into it backward, arms stacked on the back of it, and stared down Oikawa. They were close like that, close enough that they could have reached out and touched one another, if the plexiglass hadn’t been between them.

Iwaizumi didn’t speak, but he wasn’t hostile. His face was smooth, only the slightest hint of a frown creasing his brow.

When a few minutes dragged on, and Oikawa felt the weight of Iwaizumi’s stare would drill straight through him, Oikawa said, “You told me you didn’t know the man’s name.”

“I didn’t. Still don’t.”

“He was a stranger, then.”

“Yeah.”

“If you didn’t know him, then how do you know he deserved to die?”

Iwaizumi gripped the back of the chair, the tendons in his arms flexing. “Do you think that’s possible?” asked Iwaizumi. “For someone to deserve it?”

It was a loaded question, one Oikawa hadn’t expected. He thought about it before he answered. He’d told himself the day before that no one deserved it, but was that right? He supported a system that backed Capital Punishment. If someone of authority thought a murderer should be executed, then they must have deserved to die. “It depends on the circumstances, I suppose.”

Iwaizumi gave a slight nod. “It does. When I saw that man, I saw his circumstances. I knew he deserved it, so I did it.”

Tension crept into Oikawa’s bones. “What do you mean?”

Iwaizumi’s grip tightened on the back of his chair. It may have been residual anger from the memory, or maybe he felt tension similar to Oikawa’s. “People like that don’t deserve to live.” He sat back, spine stiffening. There was something dark in his eyes, and Oikawa thought it was muted anger. “That night, I was out jogging around the park. I detoured past the playground on my way home. The guy was out there with his kid. It was almost dark, so there was no one else around. He didn’t see me, so he thought he was alone.” Iwaizumi pushed a hand through his hair. He was looking toward Oikawa, but his stare was distant, as if he was back at the playground instead of sitting there in that cell. “I don’t know what the kid did wrong. Maybe nothing. It didn’t matter to me then, and it doesn’t now. Whatever it was, it pissed him off, and he slapped the kid through the face.” Iwaizumi’s hands curled tighter, knuckles going pale. “The worst part was the kid barely even reacted. She didn’t cry. She just took it, because she was used to it. It wasn’t the first time. If I hadn’t done something, it wouldn’t have been the last.”

Oikawa realized he was holding his breath. He let it out in a low exhale.

“The kid couldn’t have been older than five or six. Tiny, too. Would’ve barely been up to my thigh, if I’d stood next to her.” Iwaizumi closed his eyes, chest rising with his inhale. When he opened his eyes again they were fixed on Oikawa, intensity burning in them like a low flame. “If he’d kept on, he could’ve killed her. Even if he didn’t, she shouldn’t have to live that way. No kid should. It’s fucked up. He was fucked up, so I did something about it.”

Oikawa’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t look away from Iwaizumi, couldn’t think of anything other than the raw conviction in his voice. He hesitated, and asked, “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“You know what the police would’ve done?” asked Iwaizumi, the words paired with a flash of teeth. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. They would’ve said there wasn’t any evidence, or that it was just normal discipline, and they would’ve gone away. And then the guy would’ve been pissed, so the kid would’ve gotten it twice as bad.”

That was specific; too specific for a passing thought.

“There was only one way to fix it,” said Iwaizumi, “so I fixed it. That’s why I killed him. I’d do it again. I’d kill all of them again, even if it meant I’d end up right back here. It was worth it.”

Oikawa thought his way through that explanation, mind reeling. That was a lot of information to analyze in the clinical, detached way in which he’d been taught to deal with his clientele. Maybe too much, because that mindset started to slip.

Instead of painting Iwaizumi’s motives into a bigger picture that would illustrate the rest of the murders, Oikawa fixated on the rage that lingered in the retelling, even after so much time had passed. Iwaizumi was still furious from the thought of it. He wasn’t latching onto the victim’s behavior as an excuse to justify his own. He’d truly thought he was doing the right thing; the only thing. His conviction was so strong that, for a moment, Oikawa allowed himself to wonder if maybe it had been the right thing.

He shook the thought out of his head quickly. He couldn’t afford to think that way.

“Were you abused?” asked Oikawa quietly. “When you were a child?”

He didn’t expect Iwaizumi to answer, not really. He had no reason to. He was getting nothing out of this conversation. No deals had been made.

Iwaizumi snorted, eyes skating off to the side. “So just because I hate abusers means I must’ve been abused, too? Is that what they taught you in whatever fancy school you went to?”

“No,” said Oikawa. “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer.”

Iwaizumi squinted at him, as if trying to find a trick beneath his words. “Does it matter?”

“To most people, no.” Oikawa clasped his hands together more tightly. “To me, yes.”

“What do you do after these talks?” asked Iwaizumi. “Do you run off to the Chief and tell him everything I said?”

“The only thing I’ve ever told him was the information you gave me yesterday, as part of our deal. Everything else has stayed between the two of us.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t his business, or anyone else’s. It’s just between you and me.”

The crease in Iwaizumi’s brow deepened, but he didn’t seem angry. He appeared thoughtful, his tense hands finally relaxing on the back of the chair. “You go first, then.”

Oikawa blinked. “What?”

“Tell me about your parents,” said Iwaizumi. “How your childhood was. Then I’ll tell you about mine.”

“Why?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Just between you and me, right?”

Oikawa smiled. He couldn’t help it. He realized just how much he’d underestimated Iwaizumi at the beginning, thinking he was the same as all the other murderers Oikawa had dealt with. He was different. Oikawa had never met anyone quite like him. “It’s a boring story.”

“I’ve got time.”

Oikawa sat back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “I grew up in Miyagi. I have a sister, but there are ten years between us. She moved away for school when I was seven. I hardly remember living with her. It was just me and my parents, after that.”

He paused, and would have stopped talking altogether, if Iwaizumi’s attention hadn’t been so intense.

“They were attorneys,” continued Oikawa, voice dipping lower. “My parents. Some of the best in the country. They worked for the Federal Agency here, for a while. Prosecuting people like you.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond to that. He just waited.

Oikawa wasn’t sure what else to add. He didn’t want to spend too much time rifling through his childhood memories. He’d spent years trying not to think about them. “I went to a private school, because they wanted me to have a good education. They would have preferred if I’d gone to law school, to follow in their footsteps. I wasn’t interested, so I did this instead. I was still successful, so they were satisfied.”

There was an eerie perception in Iwaizumi’s stare, not dampened by the plexiglass. “And if you hadn’t been successful?” he asked. “What then?”

Oikawa felt himself go tense, like a violin string that had been stretched too tightly. “I was,” he said, a bit sharply, “so it doesn’t matter.”

Iwaizumi’s stare remained steady, and Oikawa folded his arms, glancing to the side instead of looking at him.

Oikawa shouldn’t have agreed to this conversation.

“I was an only child,” said Iwaizumi. “Not by my parents’ choice. My mom had complications when I was born. They had to do emergency surgery to save her. She couldn’t get pregnant again, after that. She blamed me for it.”

Oikawa was startled into looking at him again. Iwaizumi’s face hadn’t changed. It remained stony, impassive, as he continued.

“She thought some god was punishing her,” said Iwaizumi. “They took away her ability to have children and left her with me. I was part of the punishment, too. A normal baby wouldn’t have torn up her insides when they were born, so she knew there was something wrong with me.”

Icy dread seeped into Oikawa’s blood.

“My dad was drunk all the time,” said Iwaizumi, “so he didn’t care about much of anything. If mom wanted to think I was some kind of little fucking monster, he didn’t care enough to argue with her. He was a piece of shit, but even when he hit me, it wasn’t that bad. All I had to do was bring him a beer and he’d stop. Mom was worse. I could spend all day telling you about the shit she did to me, but you look like you’ve heard too much already.”

Oikawa didn’t know what his face looked like. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. He was numb, even as he swallowed and tried to put himself back together. “That’s terrible, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. He was remarkably calm, considering how angry he’d been when talking about his first victim. “At least it was me, instead of someone else. I learned how to take it. I survived. Some kids aren’t so lucky.”

That was true. Oikawa had seen that firsthand. In some abusive households, children died from the beatings. In others, they were so emotionally traumatized that they couldn’t function as independent adults. Some of them killed themselves, because it was the only way they could escape.

Oikawa had a sickening flashback to a sleepless night in his teen years. He’d tied one of his school jackets into a noose and had strung it up from the highest bar in his closet, fully intending to step into it.

He hadn’t, because he’d been too scared. Some kids were braver than him, though; braver, or more desperate.

“Oikawa?”

Oikawa blinked up at Iwaizumi. He realized he’d gone quiet, and he didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d spoken.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sitting anymore. He was on his feet, watching Oikawa through one of the circular cutouts. Without the glass between them, his eyes were even sharper.

“Yes?” said Oikawa. His voice didn’t quite sound normal, but it was almost convincing.

“You can talk to me,” said Iwaizumi. He spoke quietly, his voice a low rumble. “It’s not like I can tell anyone about it, locked in here. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You can trust me.”

That should have been laughable, coming from someone like Iwaizumi. He was a criminal of the worst kind. He’d killed a lot of people, probably more than the police knew about, because he was so good at covering it up. He was a murderer.

Despite that, Oikawa found that he did trust Iwaizumi. It was stupid, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe Iwaizumi was a killer, but beneath that, he didn’t seem like a bad person.

“It’s nothing, compared to yours,” said Oikawa. He looked at the floor instead of Iwaizumi, because it was easier.

“It’s not a competition.”

Oikawa exhaled. It was loud in the pressingly quiet room. He’d never spoken of this to anyone, and he didn’t want to do it now. But Iwaizumi had been open with him, and Oikawa owed him the courtesy of doing the same.

“I was in kindergarten, the first time.” Oikawa stared at his hands. His fingers were laced so tightly together that they shook. He cleared his throat, gathered his thoughts, and continued. “I’d done some stupid project at school. I don’t remember what it was. I just remember I didn’t get top marks on it, and that… wasn’t acceptable.” Oikawa pried his hands apart. He threaded shaking fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “My father was just as surprised as I was, when he hit me. He hadn’t meant to. My sister had always been perfect, so there hadn’t been a need for it, with her. I was never as smart as she was.”

“You seem plenty smart to me,” said Iwaizumi.

Oikawa smiled, just barely. It felt strange on his face. “I pretend well,” he said. “I didn’t make it this far in life because I’m smart. I made it because I learned back then, courtesy of my father, that I wasn’t. I had to work twice as hard as anyone else, just to stay on the same level. I had to work ten times as hard to surpass them, to get where my parents thought I should be. They expected perfection. I got close, but never quite made it. Maybe I’ll make them proud someday, but probably not.”

“Oikawa.”

Oikawa hadn’t been looking at him, so when he raised his head, he was surprised to see Iwaizumi’s arm, outstretched through a cutout in the wall. Oikawa rose slowly, eyes flicking between Iwaizumi’s hand and his face.

“You don’t have to prove anything to them,” said Iwaizumi. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. If they’re not happy with who you are, then fuck them. They don’t deserve you.”

Those words resonated in Oikawa’s head, swelled to swallow him in a verbal symphony. They were soothing, like balm on his ragged nerves.

No one had ever told Oikawa he didn’t have to be perfect. Not even himself.

Oikawa raised a hand and slipped it into Iwaizumi’s. He didn’t think of the first time they’d met, when Iwaizumi had grabbed him. He only thought of the warmth of Iwaizumi’s palm, the heat of his eyes.

“Thank you,” said Oikawa.

Iwaizumi squeezed his hand, gently. “There’s nothing to thank me for. It’s just the truth.”

Oikawa didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“Hey,” said Iwaizumi. “Want to make another deal?”

It took Oikawa a moment to comprehend that, because he’d almost forgotten why he was there. “Sure.”

“I’ll tell you where to find one of the bodies,” said Iwaizumi. “If you give me something.”

Oikawa nodded. He understood the words, but his brain still felt distant, as if he was overhearing this conversation from the next room. “What do you want?”

Iwaizumi pressed his face into one of the cutouts. “I want you to kiss me.”

Shock seized Oikawa in a solid grip. His hand tightened around Iwaizumi’s automatically. He knew he should pull away, knew everything about this was dangerous.

Instead of pulling away, he took a step closer.

“Why?” said Oikawa.

“Because I want to kiss you.”

It wasn’t a good reason; certainly not what Oikawa had been seeking, when he’d asked. Even so, he couldn’t say no.

He told himself he was doing it for the job. He told himself that he would remain clinically detached. He told himself it was necessary, to get the information he needed, to build a better bond with Iwaizumi, so he would talk more after this.

When his lips touched Iwaizumi’s, he forgot all of those things. He could think only of the press of Iwaizumi’s mouth, and the firm hand that slid up to grip his elbow. Iwaizumi’s breath was warm, and his lips were even warmer. Oikawa leaned into him, as much as the glass would allow.

It wasn’t enough.

Iwaizumi flicked his tongue against Oikawa’s bottom lip as he pulled away, the heat of his eyes scorching into Oikawa. “You were right,” said Iwaizumi, “about using information like bargaining chips. This was a much better deal than the last one.” He released Oikawa’s arm and withdrew into his cell. “I rented a boat, weighed a body down with concrete blocks, and tossed it into the middle of Lake Izunuma. That was six months ago. If they drag the lake, they’ll find it.”

Iwaizumi went back to his cot and picked up a book, as if the matter was settled, and Oikawa could only stare at him.

Oikawa had been hired to get this information. It was his only purpose for returning to Japan. He’d achieved his first success, but he didn’t feel proud, or accomplished. As he picked up his bag and paced down the hallway, knocking on the steel door to exit, he only felt strangely empty.

On his way out of the Agency, the Chief intercepted him in the lobby.

“Oikawa-san! I haven’t seen you in a few days. How’re things going downstairs?”

“Good,” said Oikawa. “Things are good.”

“Has he said anything about the bodies yet? The prosecution is itching to get a jump on his case.”

The information Iwaizumi had just given him, about the lake, was fair game. Oikawa had acquired it from a deal, which meant there was nothing to stop him from relaying it to the Chief.

Chief Irihata would send word to Miyagi, where the officers there would go searching. If Iwaizumi had told the truth – and Oikawa was certain he had – they would recover the body, and have a crippling piece of evidence to present when the case went to trial. The Chief wanted Capital Punishment, and presenting a body to the jury would almost guarantee that he would get it.

Iwaizumi would be executed for his crimes. His life, in exchange for the other lives he’d taken.

It was justice, but Oikawa couldn’t stomach the thought of it.

“Nope,” said Oikawa brightly, his smile forced but believable. “Not quite yet, but we’re getting close. I can feel it. Be patient just a little longer, Chief. I’ll get it.”

Chief Irihata patted him on the shoulder. “I know you will, Oikawa-san. I trust you.”

Oikawa heard Iwaizumi’s voice in his head: _You can trust me_.

He said his goodbyes and left the Agency, and he was so caught up in his thoughts that it was a miracle he made it back to his hotel. He didn’t remember the walk there.

Oikawa locked the deadbolt and plugged in his laptop, slumping into the padded chair in the corner and propping the computer on his knees. He combed through the details Iwaizumi had given him earlier, about his first victim. It had been in Miyagi, in an alley between Blocks 168 and 169. A nameless man with a young daughter.

It wasn’t much information to go on, but Oikawa had been hacking into the Agency’s database for years, and he’d become quite skilled at it.

He started the search for the past three years and got nothing. He extended it further, to four and then five, and finally got a hit when he pushed it to six.

A man had gone missing from the nearby playground. His daughter had been found there alone, with no idea of where her father had gone.

Oikawa went into a different screen, searched the man’s name on the missing persons list.

It was still there.

Oikawa stared at his laptop too long, his breaths loud in the hush of the hotel room. He switched screens again, logged into Miyagi’s public school server and searched for the daughter’s name. He found her easily, enrolled at a middle school close to the playground where her father had disappeared. Her grades were average, to be expected of a normal student of her age. He pulled up her picture, and found a small girl beaming back, her hair braided neatly away from her face. It wasn’t a fake smile, as most children gave for school pictures. It was bright, genuine.

This little girl was happy, and Oikawa knew it was because of Iwaizumi.

Oikawa closed his laptop slowly, blank stare stuck to the wall. Iwaizumi hadn’t explicitly stated it, but Oikawa knew without asking that all of the killings would have a similar motive. Iwaizumi had been abused as a child, badly. He’d suffered, and he couldn’t stand the thought of another child suffering in the same way.

Iwaizumi had saved that little girl. The Chief could call him a murderer, the country could accuse him of being a monster, but Oikawa knew better. Maybe Iwaizumi was a killer, but he was still a good person, too. It was the first time that Oikawa realized it was possible to be both of those things at the same time.

He rested his forehead in his palm, the first throb of a headache buzzing through his temple.

Iwaizumi was a good person, and he didn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life in prison.

  
  
  
  
  
Despite what his father had said about him all those years ago, Oikawa wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a genius, but he was smart enough to know when he was making a mistake.

Going back to the Agency the following day to meet with Iwaizumi was a mistake.

He should have pulled back from the job the instant he began sympathizing with his client. That was a red flag for anyone in his position. If his professional detachment began to slip, he needed to withdraw from the case.

Oikawa knew that, but when the steel door slid open and the guard exited into the hallway, Oikawa entered the cell anyway.

Iwaizumi was on his cot, back against the wall and a book in his hand. He looked up as Oikawa entered, watching him through the glass. “I guess now that I talked the fun’s over?” said Iwaizumi.

“What?”

Iwaizumi gestured with his book. “You didn’t bring food.”

Oikawa blinked. “Oh. I forgot. Sorry, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like they’re starving me in here.”

Oikawa frowned, but didn’t comment. He dragged his chair over, so close to the plexiglass that his toes nudged against it when he sat. He’d brought Iwaizumi food every single day since he’d started this job. It had always been his method, when dealing with his clientele. Everyone was in a better mood after they’d eaten.

On his way there, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Now that Oikawa tried to recall, he didn’t think he’d even stopped for breakfast that morning.

“Which book are you reading?” said Oikawa.

“A Comprehensive History of Japan’s Prison System,” said Iwaizumi, flashing the cover at him. “I’m guessing you bought it because of the irony, but it’s actually interesting.”

Maybe Oikawa had found some humor in the title when he’d chosen it. Now it only made his heart sink.

Oikawa knew more than most about Japanese prisons. Before he’d become famous enough for his services to be requested overseas, he’d spent a lot of time in the prisons of his own country, dealing with the worst of the worst. Those men had told him about the conditions they suffered in prison. They’d told him it how strict the guards were, and how miserable their lives had become since their incarceration. Many of them had told him that they’d rather be dead than live out another ten years in prison.

Iwaizumi would be there soon, whether Chief Irihata dug up any bodies or not. It wouldn’t be ten years for him, or fifteen, or twenty. He would never see the outside again. He would die in prison, and if he wasn’t executed, he would just waste away.

Nausea churned Oikawa’s stomach at the thought.

“You alright?” asked Iwaizumi. He folded down a page and put the book aside, uncurling his legs to stand and approach the glass.

“Sure,” said Oikawa. His voice was flat. He didn’t even try to make it sound convincing. “I’m fine.”

Iwaizumi frowned down at him. He took the chair from the corner and positioned it directly in front of Oikawa, sitting to face him through the glass. “You sick or something?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Iwaizumi’s brows dipped into a scowl. “I would’ve thought a famous psychologist would’ve figured out how to lie better.”

Oikawa tipped his head back with a sigh. He ran his hands through his hair, and he knew he would mess it up, but he couldn’t care. “Are you worried?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling. “About going to prison?”

“I’m not looking forward to it,” said Iwaizumi, “but I’m not worried.”

“Why not?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “There’s no point. I can’t do anything about it now.”

“What if you could?” said Oikawa. “If you had a chance to escape, and run away from here, would you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Oikawa laughed. It sounded wild to his own ears, borderline hysteric. He thought maybe he was going mad. “Nothing. Nevermind. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Iwaizumi’s stare was steady, unyielding, and Oikawa couldn’t quite look at him.

“They think I’m dangerous,” said Iwaizumi, his voice low. “They have four guards on me when I get taken out to the showers. They’ll never give me a chance to escape.” He paused, thinking, and said, “But if I had one, of course I’d take it. Maybe they’d kill me trying to arrest me again, and maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s better than rotting away in here, even if I deserve it.”

“You don’t.”

“What?”

Oikawa swallowed. His common sense was screaming at him. This was a mistake. Everything about this was a mistake. He needed to leave this room right now and never come back. He needed to find the Chief and tell him to hire someone else. He needed to-

“You don’t deserve it,” said Oikawa. Finally, he made himself look at Iwaizumi. “You don’t deserve to be in prison. You don’t deserve to be in here. Maybe… some people do deserve to die. I don’t know. But if they do… If they do, they’re the ones you killed.”

Iwaizumi’s stare was intense, molten. “Do you really mean that or are you trying to trick me somehow?”

Oikawa chewed at his lip. “I mean it.”

Iwaizumi rested a hand in the dip of one of the cutouts, his fingers curling within an easy arm’s reach. Oikawa wanted to touch him. He wanted to hold Iwaizumi’s hand in both of his, wanted Iwaizumi to ask him for another kiss. He wanted many things. None of them were good for him, but he wanted them anyway, with an urgent desperation that he’d never felt.

Oikawa stood, so abruptly that his chair nearly toppled. “I have to leave.” He seized his bag off of the floor, pausing only when Iwaizumi’s low voice spoke his name.

He should have pretended not to hear. He should have gone anyway, and never looked back.

But he turned, and Iwaizumi was pressed against the plexiglass, watching him. Iwaizumi didn’t speak, but his eyes said a great deal more than any words could have.

Oikawa lingered, just looking at him. By the time he peeled himself away and paced down the stone hallway, he knew what he had to do.

  
  
  
  
  
Oikawa didn’t go to the Agency the following day, or the one after. He called Chief Irihata and said he wasn’t feeling well. The Chief told him to rest up and take as much time as he needed.

It was a lie. Oikawa felt fine, physically. It was his mind that was in turmoil.

He spent those two days in his hotel room, thinking about his options. There shouldn’t have been any options at all. There was only one reasonable thing for him to do, and that was to quit the case before he made an irreversible mistake.

Oikawa discovered, during those two days, that he wasn’t as reasonable as he’d once thought.

On the third day, he went back to the Agency, as usual. He stopped for food this time, falling back into his regular pattern. He swept through the front doors, smiled at the receptionist, and stepped into the elevator, as always. The difference was the edge of anxiety that raced through his limbs, turning him into a walking live wire.

Iwaizumi’s guard opened the door for Oikawa, as usual. Oikawa nearly tripped over the threshold, and grabbed the man’s shoulder to steady himself. Oikawa apologized as he backed away, and the guard waved him off as he stepped through. The steel door crunched shut, and Oikawa was alone.

He eased down the hallway and into the room that housed the cell. Iwaizumi stood at the wall, peering at Oikawa through one of the circular cutouts.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” said Iwaizumi, as Oikawa approached.

“I needed some time off,” said Oikawa. He eyed the cameras mounted to the ceiling, confirming the blinking red lights were off. He usually checked out of habit, but this time it was a necessity. “To get my head straight.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond. He watched Oikawa closely, eyes narrowed.

Oikawa stopped on the other side of the plexiglass. He took a deep breath, searching for a good reason not to do what he was about to do. There was no shortage of them. He was making a mistake, by anyone’s standards.

He knew that, but he also knew he was going to do it anyway.

“I have something for you,” said Oikawa.

“What is it?”

Oikawa passed the food through the slot, but that wasn’t what he meant, and Iwaizumi knew it. Iwaizumi put it aside and faced him through the glass, waiting. Oikawa reached into his pocket and took out a keycard, the one he’d slipped out of the guard’s breast pocket a few minutes before. It was the same size and shape as a credit card, but distinctly heavier. He studied it too long before raising his eyes to meet Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi understood immediately. He was solemn as he asked, “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” There was conviction in the single word, the same conviction with which Iwaizumi had talked about the motivation for his crimes. “I’m sure.”

“If you get caught-”

“I won’t.” Oikawa braced himself. This was his last chance to change his mind, to back out before it was too late.

It was his last chance, and he threw it away as he tapped the card against the keypad on Iwaizumi’s cell. It beeped, quietly, and the door slid open.

Iwaizumi didn’t immediately move. He stood on the other side, nothing between them but empty air. Iwaizumi seemed bigger somehow, without the plexiglass buffer. Maybe it was because Oikawa knew he was no longer protected. If Iwaizumi wanted to hurt him, really hurt him, he’d just given him the perfect opportunity.

Iwaizumi stepped through the door and reached for him.

Oikawa didn’t flinch.

He found himself wrapped in sturdy arms, hot breath against his jaw. Iwaizumi’s face was scratchy, and the scent of his generic shampoo was bland, but the warmth of him was just as Oikawa had imagined. Oikawa embraced him, holding onto that solid heat like it was the last thing he would do.

Maybe it would be, if this went badly.

Oikawa allowed himself one more minute of comfort before pulling away. Iwaizumi’s hands lingered, but he let him go.

“Here’s the plan,” said Oikawa. “Your guard is posted outside. Knock on the metal door, and he’ll open it, thinking it’s me. There’s no reason for any of the other guards to come into this part of holding. This cell is the only one back here. He’ll be alone, but there’s a camera in the hallway. You need to grab him and pull him through the door as discreetly as possible. Knock him out, and do it quietly. If someone hears, it’s over. When he’s out, drag him back in here and we’ll put you in his uniform. It might be a little tight, but I think it’ll fit.” Oikawa opened the flap of his bag, the one that he always carried, the one that no one had ever searched. “Here’s an extra set of clothes. Once you’re away from the Agency, find somewhere to change, because they’ll be looking for you.” He dug into the bag again, and pressed a different key card into Iwaizumi’s palm. “This is for a hotel six blocks east. Room 413. It’s under the name Nakamura Reo. The police will check hotel bookings, just in case you’re staying at one of them, but this one was reserved two days ago, so it won’t raise any red flags. It’s good for two weeks.”

Iwaizumi stared down at the armful of clothes, and the keycard, before looking back at Oikawa. “Why are you doing this?”

“I meant what I said.” Oikawa flipped his bag shut and hoisted it higher on his shoulder. “You don’t deserve prison, or anything worse. I can’t live with myself, knowing someone like you is decaying underground. It’s not right.”

Iwaizumi considered that. The crease in his brow was deep, but the way he watched Oikawa was soft. “They’ll put you in prison, for helping me escape.”

Oikawa shook his head. “No, they won’t.”

“How-”

“I wasn’t finished telling you my plan.” Oikawa smiled, despite the rush of panic boiling in his blood. He’d already made his decision. Questioning himself now would do no good for either of them. “I’ll help you change into the guard’s clothes. You’ll put these new ones on when you’re away, and dump the uniform in a dumpster somewhere, the opposite direction of the hotel. Then you’ll backtrack, go to that room, and you won’t set foot outside. Not for anything, not even if there’s a fire alarm. Order takeout a couple times a day, or get room service. Just don’t leave, no matter what. Promise me.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I promise.”

“I’ll come back for you, before the two weeks are over. I’ve met a lot of people over the years. I can make arrangements to get you out of the country. That’s the only way you’ll be safe.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going, too?” asked Iwaizumi.

Oikawa hesitated. “Do you want me to?”

Iwaizumi put the clothes and the keycard aside. He stepped close, sliding one hand against the side of Oikawa’s face, curling the other around his hip. “Yeah. I do.”

Oikawa’s heartbeat stuttered. He wanted to blame it on the stress of the situation, but he knew it was something else, something just as dangerous. “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Iwaizumi’s hand slipped into the back of Oikawa’s hair. He kissed him, and it wasn’t like the brief kiss they’d exchanged through the glass. Oikawa felt Iwaizumi against him, warm and sturdy. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist, holding him close, tilting his head as the kiss grew deeper.

Iwaizumi didn’t taste like a killer. He tasted like security and comfort, like peace and truth, like endurance and justice.

He tasted like he was a good man, like Oikawa had thought.

“How do you plan to get out of this?” asked Iwaizumi, when they broke apart.

“Once you’re dressed like a guard,” said Oikawa, “you’re going to knock me out, too. The Agency will think you figured out a way to open your cell, and that you overpowered me to get out. Even if they suspect me of contributing to your escape, they won’t be able to prove anything. I’ll be thoroughly questioned, probably for days. After that I’ll say I need some time to recover and I’ll go home to visit my sister for a while, to lay down a good cover. Then I’ll come back to Tokyo and get you.”

Iwaizumi seemed impressed. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.”

Oikawa had done nothing else for the past forty-eight hours. He hadn’t even slept. “Yes.”

“You know this might not work,” said Iwaizumi. “I might not make it out of the Agency, if the wrong person sees me.”

“I know. It could go wrong, but it’s not as if you have anything to lose. An escape charge has nothing on murder.”

Iwaizumi huffed under his breath. It almost sounded like a laugh. “Okay.” He stepped past Oikawa, toward the stone hallway, but paused. Without looking back, he said, “If I get caught, I won’t talk. I won’t say you helped me.”

Relief ebbed into Oikawa’s blood, muting some of the panic. “Thank you.”

Iwaizumi nodded, and rounded the corner. Oikawa leaned against the clear wall of the cell and took a breath.

This could go terribly wrong. At worst, they would both be in custody before the day was over, and neither of them would walk free again.

It was a big risk, a stupid one.

Oikawa was willing to take it, for Iwaizumi.

  
  
  
  
  
Twelve days later, Oikawa stepped off of the train platform into Tokyo.

It hadn’t been an easy two weeks for him. He was exhausted, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, and his body was physically aching from the lack of rest. He’d found himself unable to sit still, so he’d paced the floor of his sister’s guestroom at all hours of night until his legs were sore from the constant motion.

More than once, he’d almost broken and called the hotel.

He knew Iwaizumi hadn’t been caught. That was his only comfort. He’d checked the Agency’s system at least once every hour, sometimes more, to see if any updates had been made to Iwaizumi’s case. They’d added one when someone had located the discarded guard uniform, but that was the last lead that the police had chased. There was no more word of the escaped convict, and that in itself was a miracle.

Iwaizumi’s face was all over the news. Oikawa couldn’t watch tv without seeing him, couldn’t go online without being bombarded with fifteen different articles about the dangerous serial killer who’d escaped the most secure jail cell in Tokyo. They’d used a different mugshot than the original. The picture plastered all over the news was a better one, and Oikawa was pained every time he saw it.

Oikawa Tooru wasn’t an idiot. He knew that anything Iwaizumi had said or suggested while he was in that cell couldn’t be trusted. Iwaizumi would have said anything to get out of there. It was possible he’d been playing Oikawa the entire time, feeding him false stories to explain away his crimes, asking for a kiss to try and take advantage of Oikawa’s feelings; feelings that Oikawa himself hadn’t even been aware of until then.

It was possible, but Oikawa couldn’t quite believe it.

Still, he was a mess of nerves as he walked the Tokyo streets, approaching from the west end of the city to keep as far away from the Agency as possible. He wore a breathing mask and large sunglasses for the purpose of anonymity, but still he didn’t want to take any chances.

He’d convinced Chief Irihata that he had no knowledge of how Iwaizumi got out of his cell, and that he’d been jumped before he’d had time to react. The minor concussion he’d sustained from the force of Iwaizumi’s punch had given that story a good deal of credibility. Still, it would be suspicious for him to be seen back in Tokyo, after he’d insisted that he needed a long break from the city. He’d told the Chief that he intended to leave Japan for a while after his visit to Miyagi. He hadn’t mentioned that he had no intention of returning at all.

He stepped off of the crosswalk onto the correct block and paused, tilting his head back to view the hotel looming over him. It wasn’t the best one in the city, but it wasn’t flea-ridden, either. He’d chosen something average, hoping it wouldn’t stand out during the police investigation. The Agency would have swept the surrounding area during the first few days following the escape, but then their search would have spread outwards. They’d sent alerts to neighboring cities, train stations, and airports, trying to catch Iwaizumi in their net before he could get away.

They would never expect that he’d stayed here, six blocks away from the Agency, hiding right under their noses.

Oikawa took a steadying breath and entered the hotel. He didn’t look directly at anyone, and didn’t check in at the front desk before heading straight to the elevator. No one stopped him, and no one spared him a second glance. He rode up to the fourth floor, his pulse kicking nervously in his chest.

There was no guarantee that Iwaizumi had done as Oikawa had said. He probably didn’t even trust Oikawa, not really. Iwaizumi had escaped, and it was very likely he’d chosen to go his own way instead of following Oikawa’s plan. It wouldn’t have been a surprise. Oikawa had spent the past twelve days coming to terms with that, in between his bouts of panic that Iwaizumi would be caught.

He knew Iwaizumi might be gone, but as he stepped onto the fourth floor and followed the numbered doors, he desperately hoped he wasn’t.

Room 413 was at the end of the hallway, as far from the elevator as possible. Oikawa had reserved it for that specific reason.

A room service tray stacked with dirty dishes had been placed outside the door. A wash of relief soaked through Oikawa at the sight of it. He checked the hallway, to confirm he was alone, before lightly knocking. A hanging plastic “Do Not Disturb” tab had been attached to the handle, to keep housekeeping away.

There was shuffling from beyond the door. Oikawa took off his sunglasses and his breathing mask, holding his breath as footsteps approached from inside.

The pause that followed was lingering. Oikawa practically felt Iwaizumi’s stare through the peephole. The thunk of a deadbolt made Oikawa’s heart skip, and then the door swung inward, revealing a quick glimpse of Iwaizumi before he reached into the hallway and yanked Oikawa inside.

Oikawa stumbled, but righted himself as Iwaizumi shoved the door shut and twisted the deadbolt back into place. The room was dim, lit only by a lamp by the rumpled bedside, but Oikawa’s eyes adjusted quickly. He stood back and looked at Iwaizumi, basking in the sight of him.

He looked different than all the times Oikawa had seen him before, beneath the harsh fluorescents of the jail cell. His skin was a warmer tone in this light, the shadows lingering gently about the planes of his face. He was dressed only in the jeans Oikawa had given him on the day of his escape, barefoot and bare-chested.

“Hi,” said Oikawa. It was the only word he could squeeze out of his throat.

Iwaizumi didn’t immediately answer, and Oikawa was chilled by a flicker of uncertainty. If Iwaizumi decided he didn’t want Oikawa’s help, if he chose to eliminate the only person who knew what had happened or where he was hiding…

Iwaizumi moved close. Oikawa should have been afraid, at least a little, but the way Iwaizumi looked at him left no room for fear.

“I was starting to worry,” said Iwaizumi. His voice was different too, without the strange echo of stone walls. It was richer, warmer. “I thought you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

Oikawa’s smile was all relief. “I told you I’d come back for you.”

“Took you long enough.” His hand was hot against the side of Oikawa’s face. “I’ve been losing my mind, locked up in here.”

“You should be used to that,” said Oikawa. “You’ve had practice.”

Iwaizumi huffed a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m used to hearing you ramble on every day. It’s too quiet without you.” He leaned closer, his breath soft against Oikawa’s lips.

Oikawa curled his fingers around Iwaizumi’s wrist, gently, and eased back. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. He wanted to, badly, but not if it was only because Iwaizumi felt obligated. “I got you out of there because you don’t deserve to go to prison. Not because of anything else. I’ll still get you out of Japan, even if you’re not interested in me. You don’t have to pretend.”

Iwaizumi didn’t back off. “Who’s pretending?”

A little thrill zipped down Oikawa’s spine. “I’m just saying, if you don’t want to-”

Iwaizumi pressed his mouth over Oikawa’s, silencing him. His lips were rough, chapped, but still perfect. He pulled back and said, voice lower, “I’m not good at pretending. If I say I want you, it’s because I want you.” He dipped his head, nosing at Oikawa’s jaw before sinking deeper to kiss his neck. “And I do want you.”

A shiver shook Oikawa down to his core. He tilted his head back as Iwaizumi mouthed at his neck, a strong hand slipping beneath the edge of his shirt to slide up his ribs.

“I have… someone waiting to fly us out of here,” said Oikawa, struggling to focus. “They owe me a favor, so… so they won’t check passports and they won’t ask questions.”

“If they owe you a favor,” said Iwaizumi, his hand roaming, “then they won’t mind waiting.” He went lower, teeth scraping over Oikawa’s collarbone, and suddenly Oikawa could no longer recall why he’d wanted to leave.

He fumbled at Iwaizumi’s shoulders, felt his way up to a strong jaw. He raised Iwaizumi’s face and poured everything he had into a kiss; his relief, his anxiety, his bone-deep affection for Iwaizumi that had blossomed out of nowhere and taken root in his very soul. Iwaizumi accepted it, pushed his own feelings into Oikawa as he pushed his tongue between his lips.

Oikawa let his hands wander, down the strong column of Iwaizumi neck and across his broad shoulders, skimming down his solid chest. It was baffling that Iwaizumi was still built so strongly, considering the months he’d spent in a jail cell. Surely he’d lost muscle tone, and if so, Oikawa couldn’t imagine how much stronger he must have been before the arrest.

As if picking that thought out of Oikawa’s mind, Iwaizumi gripped him beneath the thighs and lifted him against the wall.

Oikawa wasn’t small. He was tall, and he certainly wasn’t light, but Iwaizumi hefted him as if he was weightless.

“I’ve thought about you.” Iwaizumi mumbled the words into Oikawa’s neck. “Every day since I’ve been here. I’ve thought about what I wanted to do to you when you came back.”

Oikawa’s hands tightened on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, an electric thrill buzzing in his nerve endings. “Yeah?” he said, breathless. “What do you want to do to me?”

Iwaizumi flattened his tongue against the side of Oikawa’s neck, dragged it up to his jaw. His voice was low and raspy in Oikawa’s ear. “I’ll show you.”

Before Oikawa could react, Iwaizumi shifted his grip and moved away from the wall, carrying Oikawa across the room with little effort. He put him down on the wrinkled sheets and hovered over him, braced on his hands and knees, nuzzling at the hollow of Oikawa’s throat. A hand pulled at the hem of Oikawa’s shirt, pushing it upward, and Oikawa sat up so it could be stripped off. Wide palms mapped out Oikawa’s chest, trailing down to his stomach, lingering at the waistband of his jeans.

Oikawa had thought about this too, during his two weeks of sleepless nights. He’d thought of it in greater detail than he would care to admit.

Iwaizumi raised a brow in a silent question, and Oikawa nodded. A finger curled beneath the button of his jeans and it popped open, the scratch of the zipper following a half-second behind. Iwaizumi tugged them down, past Oikawa’s hips, denim bunching at his knees.

“Wait,” said Oikawa, reaching out to grab Iwaizumi’s wrist.

Iwaizumi went still.

“My bag,” said Oikawa, gesturing toward the door where he’d dropped it. “I need it.”

Iwaizumi seemed bemused, but didn’t argue. He rose and paced across the room, retrieving the bag and bringing it back to the bed. Oikawa clumsily clawed the flap open and dug through the contents, emerging with a bottle of lube he’d picked up in Miyagi, before he’d caught his train.

Iwaizumi snorted. “Were you expecting something to happen?”

“Not expecting, exactly,” said Oikawa. He tossed the bag into the floor and kicked his pants the rest of the way off. “Just hoping.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes darkened with a new heat. He stripped off his jeans – an easy feat, since Oikawa had bought them a little too large – and stood in front of Oikawa, completely bare of clothing or shame. Every inch of him was perfect. Oikawa had known that already, but seeing Iwaizumi like this made him weak.

Iwaizumi approached the bed again. He paused at the edge, leaning over to hook his fingers into the band of Oikawa’s underwear. Oikawa raised his hips and let himself be stripped. The clothing was discarded in the floor, and Iwaizumi stepped back to look at him, lingering. There was so much hunger dancing about his face that it was impossible for Oikawa to be self-conscious. Oikawa reached for the lube, but Iwaizumi took it out of his hand.

“Let me.”

Oikawa swallowed, lying back as Iwaizumi crawled on top of him. “Okay.”

Oikawa wasn’t a stranger to sex. Judging from the way Iwaizumi handled him, gently but with confidence, he wasn’t a stranger, either. Still, there was something different about doing this with Iwaizumi, something that Oikawa hadn’t experienced with anyone else. Maybe it was the undercurrent of uncertainty, of not knowing what would happen once this was over. Maybe it was apprehension, because Oikawa was in bed with a serial killer.

Or maybe it was just because Oikawa had never felt as strongly for anyone as he felt for Iwaizumi, despite what he’d done, despite his crimes.

Oikawa sank into the sheets as Iwaizumi reached between his legs, lube-slick fingers making him shiver.

“Do you trust me?” asked Iwaizumi, his voice low.

No one with an ounce of common sense would trust him, considering the circumstances. Regardless, it was with absolute honesty that Oikawa said, “Yes.”

Iwaizumi kissed him, slow and deep, as his fingers sank inside of him.

He didn’t rush. He was careful, gradual, as he stretched Oikawa, pressing into just the right places, prompting full-body shudders that shook Oikawa down to his core. Oikawa sighed at the feeling, eyes falling closed as a particularly strong pulse of pleasure blossomed in his gut. He could have stayed like that indefinitely, without a single complaint. The weight of Iwaizumi hovering over him was comforting, and Oikawa was perfectly content. But when Iwaizumi slipped his fingers out and positioned himself between Oikawa’s knees, a surge of eager anticipation rushed through Oikawa’s veins.

Iwaizumi stroked himself, spreading a sheen of lube, and watched Oikawa with eyes full of dark hunger. “You sure you want this?”

Oikawa had never wanted anything more in his entire life. Instead of admitting that, he settled with a concise, “Yeah, I want it.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth quirked into a half smile. He settled closer against Oikawa, nudging at him with the head of his cock. Iwaizumi leaned forward to kiss him, and as their tongues tangled, Iwaizumi rolled his hips forward and slowly sank into him.

Oikawa sucked in a breath and tilted his head back, but Iwaizumi wasn’t deterred. He kissed Oikawa’s neck instead, exploring it with a scrape of teeth, sucking against smooth skin in a way that would surely leave a mark.

Oikawa didn’t mind. If anything, the thought of wearing Iwaizumi’s marks made him more eager.

Iwaizumi was thick inside of him, stretching in a way that his fingers hadn’t. It was a tight fit, but the satisfaction outweighed the strain. Oikawa moved against him, silently encouraging, and Iwaizumi took the hint. He thrust into Oikawa, strong and smooth, and the first syllable of a moan dripped between Oikawa’s lips.

“Fuck,” said Iwaizumi, muffling the word into Oikawa’s throat. “You feel so damn good. _Fuck_.” He thrust in again, and Oikawa’s moan dragged louder, his fingers scrabbling at Iwaizumi’s back for leverage.

“I-Iwa…” Oikawa trailed off. It was too many syllables to focus on while Iwaizumi was pushing into him, each thrust sending a ripple of pleasure through every cell of Oikawa’s body. He settled with a low, needy, “ _Hajime_.”

Now it was Iwaizumi who moaned, pressing his voice against Oikawa’s mouth, claiming it just as he claimed the rest of him.

Oikawa knew what Iwaizumi was. He’d followed the case and read all of the reports, so he knew in extreme detail what Iwaizumi had done. He knew, but he couldn’t reconcile that persona with the man on top of him, who fucked into him with strength and care, who kissed him with a scorching passion that stole Oikawa’s breath.

When Oikawa’s moans began to rise in pitch, becoming more frequent with the rising pace of his breath, Iwaizumi reached between them and curled his fingers around Oikawa. Iwaizumi stroked him in a solid grip as he thrust into him, his tongue dipping into Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa was surrounded inside and out with the feeling of Iwaizumi, and his orgasm built so quickly and with such force that it caught him by surprise.

He came with a rasping shout of _Hajime_ , spraying across Iwaizumi’s fingers, digging his nails into Iwaizumi’s back. Iwaizumi fucked him through it, thrusts slowing as Oikawa wound down. He pulled out and pumped himself a few times, hand moving quickly, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Oikawa. He came across the sheets with a low grunt, his breath loud in the hush of the hotel room. There was a sheen of sweat across his forehead, and he looked as if he’d ran a few laps around the block.

He was perfect.

They rolled to the far side of the bed, out of the mess. Oikawa closed his eyes and curled himself against Iwaizumi, floating in the haze of bliss. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Oikawa melted into him.

A few calm minutes passed before Iwaizumi spoke. “Hey, Oikawa?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi’s fingers stroked over Oikawa’s shoulder, lightly. “For breaking me out.”

“No problem.” Oikawa had already known his decision was the right one, but the past half hour had convinced him even further.

“Are you really going with me?” said Iwaizumi. They were so close that Oikawa felt the low rumble of Iwaizumi’s voice.

“If you want me to.”

“I do.” Iwaizumi’s hand moved higher, threading through Oikawa’s hair. “I want you to stay with me. Doesn’t matter where. I just want you there.”

Oikawa felt warm, and it wasn’t just the post-sex endorphins. “Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll be there.”

Iwaizumi pulled him closer, and Oikawa closed his eyes, basking in the comfort. In a few minutes they would have to get up and face the uncertain journey ahead. Oikawa had made arrangements, and he felt confident in them, but that wasn’t a guarantee that everything would go according to plan. They could get caught before they left Japan, and both of them would go to prison for life. They would never see the sun – or each other – ever again.

Oikawa raised his head to kiss Iwaizumi again.

If it happened, he would at least have this memory to take with him.

  
  
  
  
  
The moonlight reflecting off of the lake was beautiful. The water was so still that Oikawa could pick out the spray of stars against the shine of the water, painting the landscape in a mirror of midnight sky. He leaned against the railing and basked in the beauty, the peace.

Behind him, Iwaizumi cursed under his breath, his arrival punctuated by a loud thud. “The bastard is heavier than he looks.”

Oikawa glanced over his shoulder. Iwaizumi had paused for breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. At his feet was a large bundle wrapped in a black tarp.

“I offered to help,” said Oikawa. He turned away from the scenery and leaned back against the rail. The lake was beautiful, but he would always prefer looking at Iwaizumi.

“You carried that,” said Iwaizumi, nodding at the pair of concrete blocks at the edge of the dock. “And you’re driving the boat. I can at least carry this pile of shit.”

Oikawa grinned. “I never knew these sorts of jobs mandated an equal division of labor.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Get in the boat. We need to get this done and leave fast.”

Oikawa hefted one weighty concrete block in each hand and did as he was told. He stepped onto the tilting fishing boat roped to the dock, the bow shifting beneath the added weight. When Iwaizumi stepped aboard, the tilting was worse, but it evened out when Iwaizumi dropped his cargo and found his balance.

It wasn’t their boat. They’d driven out to the marina earlier that day, to scope out the scene. Many of the boats, especially the larger ones, were secured with padlocks. Some owners didn’t seem to be quite so concerned, and whomever owned this boat was one of them. Oikawa loosed the rope from the dock, cranked the small engine to life, and steered them out toward the middle of the lake. It was a pleasant ride. The wind was gentle in Oikawa’s hair, and Iwaizumi’s fingers were gentle as they smoothed along Oikawa’s thigh, tracing a path from his knee to his hip and back down again. It was soothing, and Oikawa smiled as the sound of splashing water swelled around them.

No one else was on the lake, as planned. The marina closed at ten, so everyone had long since gone home. There was usually a security guard patrolling the docks, but he’d received an urgent call about a sick family member fifteen minutes ago and had left abruptly.

By the time he reached the hospital and realized the call had been false, Oikawa and Iwaizumi would be long gone.

When they were near the middle of the lake, Oikawa killed the engine. Even without it, the boat continued to float along, dipping gently in the waves they’d created. Oikawa stood beside Iwaizumi, who’d crouched down to attach the tarp bundle to the pair of cement blocks with a sturdy length of rope. When he was finished, he rose and looked down at his handiwork, quietly assessing.

“I think that’ll work,” said Iwaizumi, nudging the bundle with his shoe.

“Want me to help you roll it over?”

“Yeah, on three.”

Oikawa shouldered one end of the bundle, hefting a cement block along with it, as Iwaizumi did the same. They stepped up to the edge, the water shifting beneath them.

Iwaizumi didn’t bother counting. He just said “Three,” and they heaved the load over the side of the boat. It splashed, loudly enough that Oikawa glanced around, to see if it had caught any attention. But they were still alone, and nothing happened as the bundle slowly sank below the surface, a surge of bubbles marking its downward descent.

They watched it quietly, Iwaizumi’s arm slipping around Oikawa’s waist.

“I never thought I’d say it,” murmured Oikawa, “but that was kind of satisfying.”

Iwaizumi’s grin was stunning beneath the subtle glow of the night sky. “Yeah,” he said. “It always is.”

Oikawa turned toward him, leaned in for a kiss, and stopped. He raised a hand and brushed a thumb over Iwaizumi’s cheekbone, where a smear of blood had dried on his skin. He scratched it away with his thumbnail, cradled Iwaizumi’s jaw, and kissed him beneath the moonlight.

It had been six months since they’d fled Japan together. They were in Italy now, but they’d had stays in Germany and Norway, too. Oikawa had used his connections to buy Iwaizumi a new identity, one that would allow him to travel anywhere he wanted. Maybe they would find somewhere to settle down someday, or maybe they would keep moving around. Oikawa wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t know where he wanted to be, or for how long. He didn’t know what tomorrow had in store for them.

He knew only one thing with absolute certainty. He knew that wherever they found themselves, it would be together.


End file.
